Irish Charm
by Lux Hart
Summary: "Don't become too involved with your patients." This was a rule Dr. Gloria Nathan was told again and again in med school. It was a rule she kept close. That is, until Ryan O'Reily became her patient. The man tore her life apart. Will he also be the one to help her rebuild it? COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1: Guilt

**Author's Notes: **Takes a slightly AU approach to the storyline. The title comes from an Irish quote.  
**Rating: **M for language, sexual references, and adult themes.

**Disclaimer: **Oz belongs to its rightful owners. No copyright intended.

* * *

**WHERE THE TONGUE SLIPS, IT SPEAKS THE TRUTH  
**

_Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it's a comfort to go hand in hand.  
_- Emily Kimbrough.

**Chapter One: Guilt**

She watches him walk through the doors, owning the ground which his feet pass over. He always goes somewhere with a purpose. Eyes scan across the room, before they cast through the window into the room where she sits. Blood pools to her dark cheeks, but she can't look away.

He twists his mouth upwards into a smile. That damn Irish charm.

She watches as he continues his walking, now knowing his destination is her very office. He takes all the usual mark of manners – which Gloria can't help but find amusing when they come from the cocky jailbird – he knocks, waits, smile never leaving. She gives him a nod, feeling a smile of her own appear, and in he comes.

"What are you doing here, Ryan?" She asks as he takes a seat across from her desk.

"Check-up. See, some fucking prag coughed on me. Might have given me HIV or something? So I thought I'd come here and you can check me out."

His word choice surprises her, but she dismisses it. "You don't become HIV positive through coughing, Ryan." Though she believes he is already aware of this.

"Can you check me out, anyway?"

Now she knows for certain his former wording is not a coincidence. The double talking Ryan is as apparent as ever. More of his Irish charm that Gloria is never able to escape from.

"I thought you were now seeing Dr. Prestopnick," She responds, casting her eyes downwards as his brown ones stare into her soul, "I'll page him – he was just here."

"He left."

She can feel his breath close when he speaks, and feel his presence. The table makes a groan; she knows he is leaning in to her, and has to will herself to not look up. She knows what she will see; the eyes, the smile, the hair combed back to reveal just the smallest hint of a receding hairline. She knows it all.

"Warden wanted him," Ryan continues. "So it's just you, me, and this room."

_Don't look up. Don't look up. _She now has to coach herself of the words, digging nails into the wooden chair and hoping the light scratching sounds don't make their way to Ryan's ears.

"Why won't you look at me, Gloria?"

His voice is husky. It sounds even...hurt. Deep down she knows it could be yet another of his mind games, another way for him to play with her emotions, but, despite herself, she is forced to look up. As she suspected he is right there, not more than five inches away, leaning his body against the table. His eyes are directly at hers, staring inside. Seeping out all her thoughts, feelings, and secrets.

"I love you." He enunciates each word, though quietly, and for her ears only.

Even though she has heard the words before, they cause her to shiver and blood rises to her cheeks again. Once more, she finds herself unable to look away from him. He reaches out a hand and she is frozen when it brushes over her cheek, only for a split moment, and it once again rests on the table.

"Say something," The voice is now even quieter, hardly reaching above a whisper.

She comes out of being a statue and shakes her head, not sure of _what _to say. She shouldn't be doing this. Can't be doing this. _Preston_; the name rises to the front of her mind. With that, Gloria is pulled from her riviere and stands, pushing herself from the table and effectively away from Ryan.

"Gloria." Ryan reaches out a hand as Gloria moves from reach, but his fingertips still manage to run down her skin. She can't deny the sparks, the want, the _need_, and the blatant love her body tells her to feel.

"Ryan, go back to your unit." She struggles for calmness in her voice, coming up with only something that is far away and strangled.

"But my check u—"

"Go, please," She doesn't even care if she sounds as though she is begging.

"Fine." A growl is in his voice as he kicks a chair. It slides against the floor and hits the wall, causing her to flinch. He leaves from the office, yanking the door open and slamming it closed behind him.

Gloria hears the sounds of guards, and a yell that is distinctly Ryan's swearing and calling insults. In almost a daze she makes her way back to her chair and sits, head in her hands and pain in her heart.

...

He comes again two days later. He greets with his charm, and seems to have forgotten what happened during their last meeting. This is so like Ryan who only lives in the moment. Except when it comes to love. He holds love never dying. Gloria knows nobody in this world will ever love her as deeply as Ryan O'Reily does, and this thought frightens her.

"Cough." She holds the stethoscope to his back and drowns in the sound of his heartbeat. His breath quickens, but she pretends – more to herself than anyone – not to notice.

Ryan coughs, and twists his body to look at her, but Gloria casts her eyes away. She moves to the other side of his chest. "Again." He obliges. She steps back from him and removes the stethoscope from her ears. "You sound fine."

"You sure?" He is able to turn himself now, and Gloria finds herself looking only at the scar on his cheek _How did he get that?_. "Maybe you should check my heart again." He reaches out for her chest but she snatches herself away, heart jumping wildly. He smirks. "I was going for the stethoscope."

"Yes, you're fine, Ryan. If you still have a headache I can give you some Aspirin, otherwise you can go back to Em City."

"I don't want to go back." He sounds like a defiant child, and she can't help but be touched by him.

She sets on her emotionless stance; digs into her doctor reserve. "Well you can't stay her," She says, turning away from him. She leans over and scribbles something into her folder, pulling out the prescription and handing it towards Ryan with her eyes still averted somewhere – _anywhere _– from his face.

Ryan takes it from her, but his hand lingers. She feels it, and can't bring herself to pull away. The feeling is like when his hand brushed her arm but two days ago. Still the electrical current. It's Ryan who eventually pulls away and, as quick as a blink, has turned and left the infirmary.

Gloria is just left standing there in shock for a while, absentmindedly thumbing over her stethoscope. She shakes her head and huffs out a small laugh. Ryan O'Reily was unbelievable. From the moment she _met _him she had become aware that he was both a liar and a man of honesty, both hidden and vulnerable, both independent and lonely. She often wonders what it is that keeps Ryan loving her to even this day. Was it still obsession? She doesn't want to owe him anything – her helping him through the cancer ordeal was her job as a doctor. Ryan knows that, doesn't he?

She refuses to allow herself to think of all these variables, all these possibilities. Ryan is back in his cell, away from her. She needs to be stronger. Yes, strength. From now on she would insist Dr. Prestopnick be the one to treat Ryan whenever he entered the infirmary with his constantly appearing headaches, chest pains, sore throats, or itching eyes. Staying away from him is the best course of action.

But, deep down, knowing her resignation to this hurts.

...

It is so unlike her to be a part of the bar scene. After spending her working hours dealing with the shady people of society, the last thing she needs is another three hours watching men mouth off at each other and throw back glass after glass of whiskey, scotch, or cheap beer. She nurses her own gin and tonic, now not knowing what she expects – or wants – by coming here.

"Can I get you a drink?"

She looks over to the shuffle of a barstool. He's middle aged, maybe a couple of years older than her, greying temples appearing prominent against dark brown hair. His eyes match the colour of his hair, and his half-smile – a smirk, really – is characterised by dimples.

"Sure." She smiles, though inside there is a bundle of nervous energy.

He waves down the bartender. "Two more of these," He tells him, pointing to her drink. Then his eyes are back on hers.

She's left self-conscious; blushing, averting her eyes to look around the room and feeling like a teenager on her first date once again. It's the setting, she thinks, being out of her comfort zone here in the bar. She takes a deep breath, careful not to let him notice, and calms just a little. _You're a big girl, Gloria. Pull it together_.

Her glass is refilled, and she takes a sip. "What's your name?"

"Cillian." He drinks from his glass, eyes watching her over its top.

"I'm Gloria."

"Pleasure to meet you, Gloria."

A hand is extended, and she hesitates for a moment. Her mind flickers, suddenly, to earlier in the day; Ryan's hand as he took the prescription from her. How he had looked into her soul, begging for love to be returned. Revealing emotions he keeps bottled from everyone else. Showing the remorse he does _not _feel, but will pretend to for her.

"Gloria, are you okay?"

The voice isn't Ryan, and it pulls her from her riviere. The man at the bar – _Cillian, Cillian _– is looking at her, his face showing what can only be described as amusement.

"Sorry, I'm fine."

He reaches out again, and this time she takes his hand. No electricity forms and no sparks fly, but it feels warm and sturdy, and right now this is all Gloria is looking for. She shakes it, lingers, and finally pulls away to let his hand drop to the bar.

Then conversation becomes easier. Gloria finds herself, aided by the liquor, able to have a loose tongue and speak to this man as if they were old friends. Tales of work – deliberately missing those containing Ryan – learning that this man was an accountant, and she even finds herself spilling details of Preston. Later she will think back and question why she would do such a thing, but at this moment all she wants is to feel something. Anything. And make sure it is not toward Ryan O'Reily.

The next few hours are fuzzy. Her vague memory takes her to a car and the coldness on her arms that come about with the windows rolled down. Then the stumbling up the stairs to a door, giggles filling up the silent night air, and warm arms wrapping around her shoulders, then waist, riding lower and lower. Finally she remembers the feelings of lips closer over her own, clothes falling to the ground, and the feeling of a heavy body, mixed with the alcohol, consuming her thoughts and leaving her without feeling anything but warmth and something akin to pleasure. Nails dig into the broad back before her, breathing rises, and finally, the last thing she remembers is her call of "Ryan".

...

For once, she takes a personal day when the hangover becomes too much. The drinking was something unbelievable, and she has not done it to such the extent as last night since graduating from medical school all those years ago. All those years ago when she was taught not to grow a connection with patients; not to _feel _anything in response to their hardships or own pain. In a prison this is impossible. In a prison where you want to be a _good _doctor at least. Because you spend your day treating those who have been caught up in drugs to escape the horror, or fights to maintain their life, or maybe they took the bed sheets to escape it all. How can a sane human being not feel with scenarios such as these?

She doesn't know. What she does know is that her mind swirls with thoughts, and even the hair of the dog can't stop it. It is not the man from last night, either, which sits front and centre of her mind. No, much of that night no longer worries her or is something she finds worthy of remembrance. The thoughts that are there, the thoughts that are stubborn in moving, are the swapping and switching of two men – Preston and Ryan.

It has been years now. Shouldn't she have moved on? Shouldn't her reasons for choosing someone else to spend her time with be on compatibility and not a dead husband? Maybe it is, she argues, maybe the reason she can't move on is because it's _Ryan _her heart calls for her to grasp. Ryan – the man responsible for Preston's death. Ryan – the man who is one step away from being a stalker. And Ryan – the man who loves her more than anyone ever can.

* * *

**Originally planned to be a oneshot, this is going to now be longer (most likely no more than 10k, though!).**


	2. Chapter 2: Anger

**Chapter Two: Anger**

_"The dictionary describes anger as 'A strong feeling of annoyance'," Augusts Hill says, "Ha. Annoyance? Since when does annoyance even scratch the surface of what annoyance really is? Hey – quit clicking your pen, it's annoying! Does that mean I'm angry? Hardly! Fuck, in Oz the only thing we feel is anger, but the anger comes from more than just being annoyed – it comes from being trapped...from being afraid...from being confused."_

...

Ryan can be predictable. Or maybe predictable is not the right word. No, she decides, it's not. Ryan is not predictable. Instead, the word she is looking for is reliability. Gloria can rely on him to send her at least one love letter a day – three on Monday if she takes the weekend off – at least two attempted phone calls a day, and a weekly visit.

At first, this was worrying and caused her a deep anger. What right did this man – this _murderer _– have to love her? During that time her views on loved had thought the emotion a privilege; love was not something easily existing, instead it was fleeting. Ryan stole her love, so why could he ever believe to deserve amity in return?

He was also married once, she knew that. She also knew Ryan took that love for granted. He cheated on his ex-wife; he put his own selfish desires first. He treated her like shit. What can a man like this possibly offer someone? A man who would throw out a divorce to the woman who vowed to be by his side, even in sickness? His love _was _fleeting – from his wife to Gloria in the space of less than a month. What was stopping him from doing this to her?

There is a knock at her door and Gloria looks up, annoyed at the disturbance of her mulling over feelings, which subsides ever so slightly when she sees the person on the other side is Dr. Prestopnick and not a potential patient. She waves him in.

"O'Reily is here, refusing treatment from anyone but you."

She suppresses a sigh. "What's wrong with him? If it's nothing severe, send him back to Em City."

"Says he's experience chest pain."

"Same as two days ago." She twists a pen in her fingers, the anger still there.

"I think you should give him a once over, maybe the chest pain is real."

This time the sigh cannot be suppressed. "Okay, I will, but if it's nothing I'm not bothering to examine him again in the near future."

He nods. "Seems fair. I'll send him in."

Less than a moment later, Ryan is sitting on the chair in front of her. A remnant of most other times Ryan comes here for what can only be described as a visit. Like always, she sees how he positions himself to lean over the desk, as close as possible to her while still maintaining the position of sitting.

"Describe your symptoms to me, Ryan." Her tone is clinical and precise and she deliberately places her eyes on the wall behind his head, only seeing his cropped hair from the bottom of her field of vision.

"Aren't you even gonna look at me anymore?"

She says nothing, does nothing. Truth is, she is not sure of her answer. All Gloria feels compelled to do right now is push Ryan from her office, slam the door, and make sure he never returns. It's all becoming too difficult, too infuriating, for her to deal with.

"Gloria, please."

The pen rolls from the table and hits the floor with an audible clatter. She leans down to pick it up. As does Ryan. When their eyes meet toward the floor, she is trapped in the depth of him. On the surface, so close, not only does she see that deep anger inside of him but, as the short time passes, the vulnerability Ryan holds close to his heart is shown. That vulnerability she first became aware of after his cancer diagnosis, and which made her question her feelings toward him in the first place. But when he leans forward that little bit more she jolts back to her seat, and the anger from him fills her. It combines with the anger of losing her husband, of being forced to push down emotions, and of working in a prison which hates those who care.

And there is Ryan, holding the pen out toward her like nothing has happened; like everything is just perfect in the world he has built up for himself, and nobody else around him matters. She rips the pen from his hand and throws it to the ground. This time not only does it clatter, but instead it shatters, though she doesn't turn to see the little pieces of plastic hit the floor and desk. He eyes are glued – _nailed_ – to Ryan O'Reily's face, and that asshole has the decency to _smile _at her.

"Who do you think you are?" Her voice is louder than she expected.

"Gloria, calm down." He stands at reaches a hand out toward her, but she flinches away.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" She yells, "After all you have done! What right do you have to come in here, to touch me, to tell me that you love me?"

The sound that comes from his lip seems almost like a scoff. "Look, Gloria –"

"Don't call me that!" The words just fly from her mouth now, without reason and rhyme or a thought-pattern. "Don't think you can do what you have and use my first name."

He stands with the smile still on the corner of his lips – Gloria seethes at the view of this – and again reaches out a hand. This time she doesn't flinch, she slaps at it and _he _flinches away. She also notices his smile falter and isn't sure what to make of it. All she knows is that nothing is working the way she wants it to, the way she once planned it to, and the entire fault rests solely on a man named Ryan O'Reily.

...

Leo Glynn speaks to her after the ordeal. He doesn't appear angry, he just reminds her of how easy it is for the inmates to play on one's emotions and that she shouldn't allow it to get to her. They aren't worth it, he says.

"I don't think that's true." Gloria frowns. "They're worth it."

Leo sighs with a smile. "You care, Gloria. It's admirable here, but don't allow that trait to cause you pain or negativity. Put yourself first – no matter what scenario."

She can agree with that, or at least see the sense in it. She vows from then on to put her own feelings first and let Dr. Prestopnick treat Ryan. He is just as qualified as her.

...

It's commonly accepted that there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Rather than just going down the line perfectly, a person flies back and forth, like a pinball. Grief can happen whenever a loss is found, and Gloria is now faced with two daily – the loss of her husband and the concept of incarceration. The latter does not affect her directly, this she knows, but empathy is still a trait she posses, and thus it plays on her mind.

The nights are the hardest. Sometimes Gloria believes she goes through each of the five stages five times each and is unable to get more than a few minutes of sleep in between. This is rare, but it happens. Like tonight. And it's not just Preston; more and more of her thoughts are turning to prison and, in particular, Ryan.

This makes her stay-to stage of grief anger. Anger that she herself can't even focus on the person she committed to loving for ten years of her life. And then anger at herself because she knows this isn't true. In those ten years, how long had she been _truly _committed? She can remember the dates with Tim and, before him, the few men she would meet at medical conventions or even through friends. She is no different than Ryan! Both he and she are capable of spitting on their loves and continuing on with life like nothing happened. The thought of being so similar to that man makes her sick.

...

Ryan is back at the infirmary again the next day. And the one after that. Yet again on the third day. He continues to return to the infirmary every day for a week, and during each of these visits Gloria chooses to ignore him. Most of the time, after learning of this, he doesn't even have Dr. Prestopnick look over him; he just leaves. She knows any illness he feels isn't real, the lump on his breast he complains of to her in love letters doesn't exist, but his actions hurt her – because she finds herself falling further away from her want to help others. How can a man such as Ryan break her? Why does she even _allow _it to happen?

After the week of visiting the infirmary, Ryan takes to going back to his letters. More fervent now, he sends at least two a day; one about his symptoms, and the other about the undying love he feels – will _always _feel – toward her. She only keeps one type, and isn't even sure why.

After Ryan takes to using the phone every two hours, Gloria knows it can't go on like this. Ignoring Ryan has not worked as she planned; it seems to have made him more devout – more obsessed. So she pays a visit to Tim, deep down already knowing it will do nothing.

"I can speak to Sean Murphy and take away Ryan's phone privileges," Tim tells her, "He can be banned from the infirmary unless he's on death's door."

In a way she wants to take this option, but knows she can't. "He still requires regular check-ups because of the cancer." She sighs. "And I'm afraid he may _really _become sick – he doesn't deserve denial of medical treatment."

Tim shrugs. "What do you want, Gloria?"

That is a good question. A good question to apply to all aspects of her life at the present time. Yet she knows Tim did not pose it to her on a philosophical level. "Have Murphy speak to him, and just tell Ryan to lay off the phone calls?" The end rises as though a question. Of course a question; can she seriously believe Ryan will abide by what is said?

Even Tim doesn't look convinced by Gloria's words, giving her a slow nod. "Will do."

She smiles and stands to leave, looking around warily for a sight of Ryan's face somewhere in the unit.

"Gloria?"

She turns back to Tim.

"Would you like to have dinner tonight?" He falters. "It wouldn't have to be a _date _or anything..."

Gloria attempts to keep the smile on her lips. "Sorry, Tim..." She can't even think of a valid excuse, and is relieved when he raises his hands in a sign of surrender, aided by a smile.

"It's fine, Gloria. Have a nice night."

This time the smile is easier. "You too, Tim."

When making her way from his office, Gloria sees him. Of course she does, and it doesn't even come as a surprise. Seeing Ryan never comes as a surprise anymore. What does surprise her, however, is her response to seeing him. At first there is the expectation of anger, and this is what fills her; the memories of yesterday's argument and of all Ryan had done to her. Her whole body fills with a heat from this anger, making her head hurt and throat feel tight. She feels tempted to slap him, curse at him, to do _something _so he feels the anger he has placed inside of her.

Then he smiles. And it's not that cocky, arrogant, son-of-a-bitch smile she is so used to. It is a smile of a different time. A smile not unlike that which he showed her after his diagnosis, the smile that says "I'll be strong, even if I'm afraid". And the heat in her is still there, but it calms to a point of pleasantry. No longer does she wish to raise her hand in violence. The pain in her head dissipates. And her throat is still tight, but this time it just leads her to walk faster from the room, and lean against the outside wall in tears. That damn Irish charm.


	3. Chapter 3: Love

******A/N: Admittedly there are some AU moments, especially in this chapter. Scenes are 'missing' or 'added' in a sense, but I hope the suspension of disbelief isn't too irritating!**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Love  
**

_"Who hasn't heard of Romeo and Juliet?" Augustus Hill says, "No one, that's who – unless you've been living under a rock for the last five centuries! So, if you have, let me try and refresh your memory._

_Romeo and Juliet is a love story. Boy meets girl but, you see, their families hate each other's guts. Some long standing feud between 'em. So boy and girl marry in private. But the problem with this is the girl's father has already planned a husband for her – Paris. So the girl, not wanting to be married to Paris – a guy who does nothing but proclaim his longstanding _love _for her – takes a pill to put her in a coma for a couple of days. Paris goes to her, thinking she's dead, and instead meets Romeo. The two battle over their apparent love for Juliet, and Paris is whacked. Then Romeo offs himself. Juliet wakes up to find her beloved dead and really kills herself. Charming._

_Now, everyone thinks Shakespeare was a complete romantic for writing this. Y'know, self-sacrifice and all that? Apparently that's the only way to love. But the person I'm always thinking about is Paris. He gets a pretty rough deal – falls in love with a girl, gets her promise, and is then killed much to the joy of the audience. He's considered this villain in the way of the audience's true loves or whatever. But all he does in the play is love Juliet. What's so bad about that?"_

...

She finally makes it to her car after the mini-breakdown, aided and abetted by Claire Howell walking past with a snide look upon her face. The tears are still threatening to spill over and blur her vision so much that she cannot risk starting her car. Instead she lays her head over the steering wheel and lets the tears begin once again.

Her mind sparks off from last night, back to her consideration of commitment and love. In the last year before his death, Gloria even considered divorcing Preston. Why she didn't go through with it, she still doesn't know. She can't wrap her head around how she believed cheating and keeping her marriage was more admirable than leaving and pursuing a relationship of more moral standing. She compares herself to Ryan again with this – if anything he was more admirable than her in love; at least he asked for a divorce when he felt himself falling.

Was _Gloria _falling in love? She doesn't want to consider it. The idea is painful and causes her tears to flow faster and the control she is trying so hard to keep a hold on is slowly slipping away. It must be five by now, everyone will soon be going home. She needs to leave. She can't be found like this. Gloria sits up, wiping at the tears and looking in the rear-view mirror to see smudges of eyeliner running their way down her cheeks. How pathetic. She rummages around in her bag for tissues, dabbing and fixing herself up best she can before driving off, fearing she may melt down again.

The drive home is a good half hour. Preston would often tease that the length of her drive was accounted to her visiting a lover. She swallows hard at the thought and blinks back tears which threaten to start again. Everything – everything around her and everything in her – is crumbling away. It leaves her raw, open, _exposed _and this is not something she is used to. The entire drive home is kept in a state of this and she has to take a longer route through back roads, lest she allow the emotions to take her over and cause a risk. That would be the last thing she needs is a death on her hands.

Or maybe the last thing she needs is _another _death on her hands. She shudders.

...

When Ryan doesn't return to visit her in the infirmary, send her letters, or even attempt a phone call that week, Gloria reluctantly admits she is bothered. First she insisted to herself it was just worry, for him as a patient and his history of cancer, but then, slowly, the realisation comes to something more than that – care on a more personal level – and she isn't sure what to do about it.

"Has Ryan been in lately?" She asks Dr. Prestopnik as they tend to the patients later that day.

He shakes his head. "Not lately. Looks like his hypochondria finally cured itself."

"Yeah..." She replies, offhanded.

"Hey, Dr. Nathan?"

Gloria looks over to the owner of the husky voice – Alvarez. "Yes?"

"O'Reily's brother's execution's set for later in the week. He's been spending time on death row."

Her stomach drops. She had all but forgotten of that impending date. Guilt fills her and sadness makes up the missing pieces. She has abandoned Ryan in a time where he really does need her, despite everything she knows that in this prison the only person Ryan has to turn to is herself. And she pushed him away.

After making her way back to her office she makes a phone call. "Can you schedule an appointment for Ryan O'Reily tomorrow at three?"

...

She regrets it now. She started regretting it when the clock struck two. What does she _want _by doing this? How selfish – how much of a _bitch _– she must be to want Ryan O'Reily in here when she has already crushed his love and sent him away too many times to count on both sets of fingers and toes.

"Gloria?"

She's startled by the tone of voice which sounds so odd to her ears. It's Ryan by the door, just standing there. Even when she looks at him, lump rising in her throat, he does nothing to come closer. He waits. Strangely enough, this small action breaks her heart. "Come sit down."

He nods and proceeds to do just that. It makes her hurt even more he doesn't even lean across the table. He just sits there, eyes toward her but far away. "What have I done?" Even his voice doesn't hold its usual joviality. It just sounds on the border of being dead.

"How are you?" Her newly replaced pen taps on a manila folder of files with the name _Ryan O'Reily _written on a sticker at the top. She doesn't even think she'll need it, but it's there. Thick with details of his health problems and injuries from the last six years. The biggest file she had access to.

He shrugs. "I'm fine."

She catches the tightness in his voice. "I heard you were here most days last week."

"You wouldn't see me." His eyes now find hers with a stone-cold gaze. She can feel the emptiness radiating from them, and it makes her shiver.

"I...I know." She can't find the words to continue, so used to Ryan's quick, double talking persona that she is stumped by the blunt answers he is giving.

"A lot of patients?" He asks, eyes still glaring, "Or do you still hate me?"

"Ryan—"

He stands. "I know you can't hate me!" She is shocked to know that this Ryan, the return of the old Ryan, makes her feel better – more _alive _– than she did a moment ago when he was forlorn. "You _love _me, and you can deny it all you want – it doesn't change things! _You own me, Gloria_!" He moves so quickly that she can't do anything before Ryan is right up at her face. She steps backwards. He follows and has her against the wall.

For a moment all she sees is the dark navy of his shirt and feel his warm, heavy presence against her. She is still, unable to move and unsure why. All the noise shared between them is breathing. What is she doing? Why doesn't she pull away, even _look _away, instead of allowing her eyes to travel up his chest and meet with his eyes? He smiles with his smirk and she feels his hand move, tracing across her cheek.

Then she reacts, wrenching herself from him. He reaches out with his hand and captures her wrist, pulling her back to him. "Let me go!" Her words are harsh, but the tone evokes nothing of anger. She pulls away and hits herself against a filing cabinet. Pain rushes through her and she forgets about Ryan as paper tumbles from the cabinet with a loud clunk.

"O'Reily!"

She wraps her arms around herself as she sees Ryan be pulled away by the guards. The eyes, those hard, cold, desolate eyes don't leave his face as he is dragged through the door by a CO, mouthing the words _you love me _before being yanked from sight.

...

His words don't leave her for the remainder of the day. She tends to her patients in a methodical manner, going through the motions she knows so well, while her head – and heart – are in another place.

"How are you today, Bob?" She goes through the motions while connecting Bob Rebadow to the dialysis machine. At first it had taken her a considerable length of time, having not used one since med school, but soon it became second nature. Today, however, is different.

"Is everything okay, Dr. Nathan?" Bob asks, nothing but patience in his voice as he sits in the bed.

Gloria smiles. "I'm fine, just a little distracted, sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's no bother."

Gloria has always held respect for Bob and the easy-going demeanour he displayed in life. She pushes all of her thoughts of Ryan from her mind to concentrate on him and make some small talk – maybe it can take her mind from her thoughts. "How is working in the library?"

He grins. "It's great." He falters and she looks at him, seeing his eyes cloud over.

"What is it?" Gloria asks, pressing the last button to get the machine up and working.

"It's just..." He clears his throat, "Do you know Stella, the new librarian?"

Oh. "Yes, I've spoken to her a few times."

"Dr. Nathan, I know this isn't your place to say anything, or that I should even be sharing this with you, but I _am _worried about her."

Gloria ran a hand through her hair and then placed it over Bob's shoulder. These eyes here were so much of a contrast against the Ryan's earlier in the day. In his was a devotion so strong to this woman he had known but a short while – and a woman who was quite possibly dying from cancer at that. Breast cancer. The same as Ryan once was.

"There is every chance she will live through this," Gloria says, with a conviction that surprises even her, "Modern medicine has worked wonders on many people with terminal illnesses." False hope, she wasn't supposed to be giving this but she can't bring herself to stop. "Turn on the television and you hear stories of it each and every day."

He nods and smiles to her. "I know. I'm holding onto that." He paused. "Dr. Nathan...?"

"Yes?"

"I hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries here, but you lost your husband several years ago, yes?"

She swallows. "Yes."

"How did you cope with someone being taken from you without warning?" He asks, "I...lost my grandson last year from cancer as well. I'm not sure how much more of these life and death throws I can take. I met this wonderful woman, and then learn she may be taken from me."

Gloria's eyes glaze over while he is speaking, but once he's done she pulls herself back, looks him directly in the eyes, and says: "I think that's what's so wonderful about love. We never know when we will lose it – or receive it. We just need to grasp onto what we can, and not allow us to take advantageof what people mean to us."

"I like that idea," He responds, squeezing her hand which still rests on his shoulder.

Her final sentence is more to herself than Bob. "And learn to forgive so we can keep going."

...

She is informed Cyril O'Reily will be executed this day, though this is not until after Dr. Prestopnick does the required checks to see if the man (_boy_) is fit to die. Usually it is Gloria who does the death row medical exams, though it doesn't take a genius to figure out why she was emitted from this particular procedure.

The minute hand on her clock echoes through the office though she has never noticed it before today. No patients currently need care. No appointments are scheduled for the next three hours. So why she sits in her office rather than the lounge she doesn't know, but it feels fitting; it feels right for her to sit here in silence, thoughts consuming her instead of socialising.

Gloria is unaware of how long she sits there, listening to the ticking rather than counting, before she finds herself standing and walking from the office. To begin with, her path is not planned. She just needs to get out of here, find some fresh air – if only in another room – and clear her head. Fruitless, she soon learns as she wanders through the halls, but she can't stop herself. She needs to keep going.

She can see the gate before realising where her walking has taken her; see the people in their street clothes – unique to the rest of Oz. For a moment she just stands there and looks inside, watching the people as they sit at tables playing cards or checkers, or the people that hide behind pillars almost undoubtedly snorting or trading cocaine. The one person she can't see is Ryan, and she won't admit that it causes her heart to drop.

She buzzes herself in, vaguely aware that she probably shouldn't be here, but pushing it from her mind. She knows what will be happening soon and right now it's all she is focused on. The inmates don't even give her a second look. Then again, why would they? Most see her on a near-weekly basis.

"Do you know where Ryan is?" She doesn't even know why she asks the question; in a daze now.

Tobias Beecher looks surprised at her question, but she is the surprised one when he comes up with a conclusive answer. "Probably shouldn't be telling you this, but last I heard he was in the gym."

So that's where she goes. Her pace quickens once she leaves Em City and rounds the shadowed halls toward her destination. Somehow, deep down, she knows there will be no guards there. It will only be Ryan, waiting for his brother. Consumed by his thoughts. Regretting everything.

She knows, because this is what she felt with Preston.

The walk takes longer than it could have on any other day. The halls expand, lengthen, and her legs and feet feel heavy. As does her wedding ring. She twists it, but doesn't stop. She can't stop. Not even if she wants to.

Then there is the door – it's left open. She can see through the wire barricades a man circling, wandering, he has no clear intention in mind. Yet she does. Her mind clears, and she knows exactly what she is after. Her feet carry her through the door, onto the mazed floor, and to Ryan who now has his back turned to her.

He turns in time to see her grasp his hand in her own. Briefly through her mind flickers the knowledge the only other time she has initiated a touch of warmth to Ryan was during his breakdown at his diagnosis. She knows in this one small touch, and the way his whole body relaxes, that he doesn't care about this fact. A hand rises to caress his cheek, and his eyes meet directly with hers. They are not the hard eyes of stone like the last time she looked at them. Instead they are soft, vulnerable, afraid, confused, and, maybe even more than that, begging. Begging with a raw pain she had yet to see – one that is not based in obsession, desire, or even passion. In Ryan O'Reily's eyes, Gloria sees love. A love that is pure, a love that is devotion. The love Ryan swore he felt from the very beginning.

That knowledge is all she needs. Raising her other hand to the other side of his face, she pulls his lips down to connect with her forehead. Warmth radiates throughout her body, from her heart outwards to the tips of her fingers and toes. Then to his mouth. He had kissed her before, several times before, but this is different. This is her desire. This feels _right_. Even a little magical as they stand in the vacant gym, lips together, hands brushing through hair. Their fears, hate, and _love _mingles. In this kiss, Ryan O'Reily's Irish charm makes it to her heart.


	4. Epilogue: A Circle

**Epilogue: A Circle**

**The year is 2009...**

Gloria was the only person Ryan had held onto in his life, and the only person he could make promises to which he wouldn't break the next day. Like a secret. In six years, he had spread nothing. Surprisingly, he hadn't even found it that hard. Everyone already knew how much he loved her and it wasn't like people had _friends _in prison to spread anything to. So, in short, it really was easy to keep up a relationship in the walls of a prison. A little unconventional, maybe, but entirely possible.

After proving he could turn his act around – now that _was _a hard promise to keep – McManus allowed him to take a job in the infirmary. Honestly, it fucking sucked, but at least it kept him closer to Gloria. Sometimes he thought about how surreal it was to be with her. Sure, the faith had always existed within him that Gloria would one day open her eyes and reciprocate his love, but there had been moments he faltered on this allegiance, and that was what kept him up at night to think about all that brought them together.

In a way, Gloria kept him grounded. She had him reconcile with his father, kept him from going crazy after Cyril's death, and even _saved his life _from the cancer. Though she insists it was not her for the last, it was the surgeons and his own strength of will. He knew that will only came about because of Gloria.

Today all this was in his mind because, instead of working, Ryan sat in the infirmary as a patient. He was also avoiding Gloria and instead waiting inside of Dr. Prestopnick's office. He wasn't supposed to be there, his appointment was actually not scheduled for another half hour, but fuck going back to Em City.

"Ryan, what are you doing here?" Prestopnick didn't even look all that surprised as he dumped a set of files on his desk and began to go through them.

"I wanna get my results." He thumbed over some of the files, searching for his name.

"Gloria has them, I believe."

This caused a knee-jerk reaction and anger to flow throughout him. "No," He yelled, "I had _you _administer the test."

Dr. Prestopnick sent him a quizzical look. "She's Chief Attending Physician, Ryan, and was your doctor for this originally."

"I want the results from _you_," Ryan insisted, trying to keep his voice level, "So get them in time for our appointment, mmkay?"

He sighed. "Okay, Ryan."

Ryan sat back on the chair, his senses on high alert and fear mixing with anger in his mind. Fucking doctor had no right to give out confidential information. He just hoped Gloria had yet to see it. The door opened again and Dr. Prestopnick walked in with a clipboard and unreadable expression on his face. Ryan tensed.

"Tell me," Ryan said, "No bullshit. Just tell me."

Dr. Prestopnick sat across from Ryan and laced his fingers together over the clipboard. There was no response, and Ryan's jaw tightened. "Just fuckingtell me!" He slammed his fist against the table and angrily glared at the emotionless doctor.

A sigh and then answered with, "Yes, it's back."

...

He didn't know how to tell Gloria, so he got into a fight with one of the new Aryan fucks and landed himself in the hole for time to think. Which he came to regret pretty soon after because, after almost six years without visiting it, you forget how cold, dark, and dull the place really is – especially without tits. He had also stayed clean for all those years and opted out of dealing. Too much effort, it was easier to now just try and blend in so he could stay good.

All those people that told him his love with Gloria was wrong and obsessive – fuck 'em. It was the best thing that ever happened to him. It was all he needed to turn his life around. This was the year he would have been paroled, were it not for love, but that's okay. He knows it was worth it now. Or so he thought. Fear was so prominent. _It's back_. The words boomed through his head. He wasn't even sure what to do because of it. He'd stormed from the infirmary before speaking about treatment. If he brought it up, Gloria would have to know. He couldn't do that to her.

He rose his head at the sound of the door being unlocked, and scrunched his eyes up in confusion and pain at the light. He couldn't have been in here for twenty-four hours already, and like McManus would take pity on anyone to go forgo their punishment. Though it was McManus who looked through the door and threw clothes at him.

"Get dressed," He said, and the door closed again.

Ryan did as he was told mechanically, still downright stumped as to why he was being allowed to do so. A minute or so later the door re-opened and McManus told him to leave.

"Why?" He asked, not moving.

"Because you've had your punishment and Dr. Nathan wants to see you."

"Why the _fuck _would she want to do that?"

Tim sighed audibly. "Ryan, you can bury your head as deep in the sand all you want, but it doesn't change facts. You either get treatment or you die, and I know you're too much of a cocky asshole to die."

"Fuck you," He spat.

"Whatever, O'Reily, just get out here."

He didn't for a while, contemplating what would happen were he to deny McManus' request, and then realised it probably wouldn't be worth it. The man was right; Ryan didn't want to die.

The walk to the infirmary was too fast for Ryan's liking. He coughed back nerves and wished McManus would hurry up and leave already. He didn't, though, until Ryan was inside the doors of the hospital setup and face to face with Gloria. Not that he noticed McManus' departure – everything else faded away when Gloria was with him. Everything except his rawest emotions.

"How long have you known?" He asked in an angry whisper.

"Ryan," Her voice held a tone of warning, "We'll talk in my office."

He stalked after her into the office and used all his collected effort to close to door without slamming it. "How long have you known?" He repeated, hitting his open palms against the table with an audible _bang_, composure forgotten.

"Ryan, calm down."

The fact that her voice stayed steady pissed Ryan off even more. "Answer the fucking question, Gloria."

"I've known since the tests came back," Her voice was rising, "The real question here is why you didn't tell me."

"Because it doesn't matter! Dr. Prestopnick coulda handled it. I'll get the fucking surgery, go through the fucking chemo, and come out on the top like last time!" He slumped into a chair, slamming his fist down, "I didn't want you to worry about me!"

She moved to sit down on the chair from him, taking his balled fist between her hands and holding it tight. He looked up at her, fears dissipating with the meeting of their eyes.

"Of course I wouldn't worry about you, Ryan," She said softly, "I always worry about you being here. In this prison, with these fights; your life is always at risk. I worry."

He shifted his weight in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable. He feels heat rising in his chest and stinging his eyes. "None of thatstuff scares me," His voice faltered, "It's this _disease _that fucking scares me. I thought I got rid of it eleven years ago – and I didn't. All those fights, all those _people_, they're nothing when it comes down to that. I can _stop _them. I can't fucking stop what my body's doing. And that _terrifies _me."

"Ryan..."

"And, that's not even it." He knew there were tears running down his cheeks, but didn't care. "I remember all the shit I put you through because of this. It took me a _long time_ to accept how much I fucked up. Now I did, and a whole, complete fucking _circle _has come about. I – I dunno...I just -" He allowed Gloria to pull him against her and rested his head in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply. He had wanted this for seventeen years and now there was every chance he was going to lose it.

"Did Dr. Prestopnick explain the details to you?" He felt Gloria's warm breath near his ear.

"Yeah." He sniffs and clears his throat which is thick with tears. "Stage three breast cancer. Worse than last time."

"It means it's more advanced," She corrected gently, "You will still have the surgery, and this time we will insist on a mastectomy, significantly lowering your chance of it coming back. You'll be okay – you fought it once, you can do it again."

He pulled away and searched her face. She believed her words – it gave him some hope as he kissed her forehead. "I shoulda been out by now." The cracks in his voice were still prominent.

"I know."

He hated bringing all that shit up again, but he couldn't stop. "I'm starting to wonder if it was worth it now. Fuck, Gloria I _love _you – but I regret a lot of shit in my life, and what I did to you...that takes the fucking prize."

"Ryan." She cupped his face in her hands. "The past, it will always be there. I can never forget my past – or your past – but haven't we moved on? Here I am, with you, telling you _I love you_ like you always wanted. I forgive you, Ryan. All the hate I once felt? It's love now – love for _you_."


End file.
